


Ingrid, alone

by Curlsandcollege



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Choosing Yourself, Feminism, Gen, Gender politics, Knighthood, Mentioned Claude von Riegan, Post AM, Post canon, duty vs family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26960545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlsandcollege/pseuds/Curlsandcollege
Summary: Ingrid Brandl Galatea, honored knight under King Dimitri Bladdiyd, gave up her claim to her house and never married. It was the right choice, but not an easy one."She would not be Galatea’s savior through marriage. She would still spend every free moment and cent she had to set them up for a future in this brave new world."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: That Old Faerghus Repression





	Ingrid, alone

**Author's Note:**

> I genuinely believe Ingrid's happiest ending is living her life for herself, on her own terms.

“You know, in another life I would have liked to marry you.” Holst Goneril chuckled as he pushed himself up from where he was face down in the dirt.  
  
They’d been sparring for the better part of an hour, Holst switching off between his fists and axes while Ingrid kept to her lance. He was strong, built solidly though only a hair taller than she was with a mane of wild pink hair and a close cropped beard that, rumor had it, he maintained to hide his eternal baby face.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” Ingrid gasped, hoping he’d rephrase so she wouldn’t need to punch him. He always said odd little things like that when he lost and while it kept things interesting he was quick to apologize with a belly laugh when he went a step too far. He often went a step too far. 

“I’m not saying I would, I don’t think you’d be amicable to it and I’d never pull you so far away from His Majesty. Just that they don’t make noblewomen like you. I didn’t realize what I was missing.” Holst dusted himself off, searching for a waterskin he’d stored with his jacket on the side of the training grounds.  
  
They’d become fast friends, both practical and protective with the same restless energy that left them always itching for a good practice fight. Holst had quickly risen to the top of the social order in the Fodlan unification efforts out of pure talent. He was, everyone said, one of the shrewdest statesmen and military leaders from any corner of their new country. Hilda had joined the Kingdom army after their rescue at Derdriu , and that was enough for Holst to swear his loyalty when the war was won.  
  
But marriage? To Holst? Unthinkable.  
  
“You’re right. I’m not amicable to it.” Ingrid grumbled, crossing her arms sourly. It was always marriage in the end with men now wasn’t it?  
  
“No, I know. You think I don’t hear things? You gave up your claim to your house to serve King Dimitri. You haven’t returned home since. I’m just saying, you’re an exquisite woman Ingrid. I’ve always thought so.” He smiled brightly as if he weren’t poking at decades old wounds.  
  
“You _hear_ things?” Ingrid knew that there was sure to be gossip about her. Even though she was desperate to do the right thing. She’d been staying in a guest room in Fhirdiad Palace rather than establishing her own household so she could send all of her wages back home.

Men’s wages. Dimitri insisted, although his treasurer argued that Ingrid wouldn’t need it. As if she too didn’t have a house resting on her shoulders. As if Knighthood was a temporary whim. 

Every time she felt a modicum of guilt over leaving her family in the lurch she would talk to another scientist or bother a mage who was working on agriculture.  
  
She would not be Galatea’s savior through marriage. She would still spend every free moment and cent she had to set them up for a future in this brave new world.  
  
She’d failed thus far. No farmers wanted to listen to their _former_ heir when she insisted they get over their superstition and use the volcanic soil closer to Ailell. Even though the greenhouse keeper at Garreg Mach insisted that she imported soil from there and it was how everyone remained fed. Galatea was sitting on a bounty but were too stuck in their ways to take the easy solution. 

She’d written a letter to Byleth hoping that some Archbishop support might help everyone see the truth of the matter, but nothing had come of it quite yet. Seteth was equally as unhelpful, and while Ingrid was patient enough to understand that the church had much more important things to do than fix one small poor corner of Faerghus that hadn’t actually seen much of the war she could still be annoyed that nothing was happening.  
  
She’d need to try something else. Failure was simply not an option. 

Holst’s guffaw broke Ingrid out of her head. 

  
“Yes Ingrid, people talk because they have nothing better to do. Take it from someone who understands that family can be a headache, treasure what you have for having it at all.”  
  
“What I have is purpose, and independence. Family gets in the way of that.” Ingrid felt her jaw clench as she spoke. She hardly believed her own words as they tumbled out of her mouth.  
  
When had she become so dishonest? Stubborn?  
  
When she exchanged one duty for another. A family for a king.  
  
“Marriage gets in the way too. I understand a little, though things are quite different in my part of the world. We let our women be commanders, no questions asked.”  
  
Ingrid snorted an annoyed puff of air. He would believe that, wouldn’t he? True, women inherited in the Alliance and weren’t habitually passed over for their brothers. But no questions asked? Short sighted at best. What did Holst know of marriage as a woman? Nothing.  
  
“I’ll marry no man who wishes me to give up my knighthood to give him heirs, and a man who doesn’t want that of me doesn’t exist.” Ingrid said brusquely, trying to hold her temper. She’d had this argument far too many times before, defended her choice far too many times.  
  
Holst considered, a level of empathy crossing his smiling face, “You’re not wrong. I wish it were different, for you.”  
  
“I make choices, I never expected them to be easy.” Ingrid smoothed her hair out of her face. It was getting long again. She’d need to cut it. No purpose for elegant long hair in her life anymore.  
  
“As I’ve said, in a different life maybe. Not this one. I know you have your reasons. I respect them. But I’d miss my sister if she never came home, even if she’s choosing a path I don’t understand. Which she is, I couldn’t even tell you what Hilda’s up to half the time but I can say she’s determined to cause a scandal and I don’t approve. But I’m her big brother, it’s my job not to approve.” 

When Holst said things like that Ingrid could almost see a world in which she could marry him. He wasn’t knightly in the traditional sense, a bit too wild and carefree. He was kind down to his core and painfully smart. But even he admitted the truth, there was no knighthood with motherhood. She’d need to choose.  
  
She’d choose herself every time. 

* * *

Ingrid’s avoidance of Galatea wasn’t purposeful at first.  
  
After the war she had followed Dimitri to Fhirdiad and wrote her father that her duty was not yet over. She would support Dimitri in his rebuilding, and could not do that from Galatea or with the distractions of matchmaking.  
  
Her father protested but allowed it. Months passed. Ingrid was the busiest she had ever been in her life, but also the happiest. Serving a king, helping others all across the land. It was a true dream come true.  
  
She came crashing down to earth with the kindest act of mercy she had in years. A letter from her eldest brother. The man who stood to become heir if Ingrid stepped down or married into a significant enough family, but always loved her enough to not make her feel bad about it. 

According to her brother the higher Ingrid’s profile the more valuable she became. Her crest had made her near priceless from the start. Her proximity to the king, her service to the Kingdom army, her renown as a Falcon Knight, all resulted in a flood of letters from every corner of Fodlan begging for her hand.  
  
Because in addition to Ingrid’s renown, everyone knew of the Galatea’s misfortune. Their poverty. And many would seek to capitalize on the opportunity. 

Ingrid was no coward nor simpleton but having a taste of her dream left her wanting more. Wanting things she could not have. Her duty had always been to Galatea, to her family.  
  
If she was to be their salvation, she would do it on her own terms. Knighthood meant she would have money of her own. Enough to maintain a household, but not a territory. It meant she would travel and stand behind her king at all kinds of meetings and hear things about soil fertility and new farming methods. Things that could save her people without selling herself to the highest bidder.  
  
It meant she was happy and fulfilled and felt a true sense of purpose for what she could _do_ rather than how she was _born_ .  
  
She’d sent three months wages home, along with a book about crop rotation, and a brief letter to her father to tell him she was renouncing her claim to Galatea, as she had been offered a permanent position as a knight under the crown. 

_Nonsense_. Her father had written. _Knights have households of their own. Knights inherit. You know Glenn was to serve as a knight until his succession. Follow in his footsteps, serve your king but come home when that day arrives. Marry. Pass your crest on to the next generation. This is your responsibility. Please Ingrid._

Ingrid cried reading his letter. 

  
Then she splashed water on her face, dressed in her finest riding gear, and flew her pegasus off to the coast to be alone and to work through the rush of feelings. It was cruel to bring up Glenn even now. Cruel to appeal to her sense of honor. Glenn was a man with options she would never have, wealthy and significant with a crested spare and above all else male. The crest of Daphnel would not die with her, it was alive and well in the former Alliance.  
  
Her brother would inherit. He was crestless but smart enough, prepared enough. 

_Find me a husband who will allow me to serve as a knight as long as I wish, and I will consider it. For now, I shall serve our king. Please share this information with our farmers, the gardeners at Garreg Mach assure me it will work._

_  
_ He’d taken her demand as what it was. A polite refusal wrapped up in an impossible task. Ingrid Galatea would not marry. 

She refused to return home after that. She felt silly and cowardly camping on Galatea lands rather than seeing her family. But Ingrid knew herself and her resolve would only hold for so long. Her father had sacrificed so much for her- she was spitting in that sacrifice’s face.  
  
She could barely handle the guilt on the best of days. Seeing him? Impossible. 

She would make it up to him. Marriage was only ever a temporary solution to fill coffers, to keep the family running for a bit longer, to buy time to pray and hope for a miracle.  
  
Ingrid had long stopped praying for miracles. If the past six years told her anything it was that if she wanted a miracle, she’d have to make it herself. 

* * *

That evening there was a knock on her door far later than was acceptable. 

  
Ingrid wrapped her dressing gown around her tightly, her hair still wet from her bath and subsequent haircut. It was probably terribly uneven but it was hard to care. She could wait until Annette stopped by and insisted on fixing it. 

Holst Goneril stood holding a large wrapped package, smiling like a madman.  
  
Ingrid couldn’t help her annoyance creeping her shoulders up. “It is very late Holst. If you want to apologize for what you said earlier, don't bother, you’re already forgiven.”  
  
“I don’t think I have anything to further apologize for but… I do come bearing a gift. A conditional one.” He brandished the wrapped bundle again as if he were holding the finest wine.  
  
Ingrid instantly recognized it as a book. Oh goddess, was he really trying to bribe her to forgiveness with a book? 

“Conditional?” Ingrid glared, hoping that he’d just leave her alone. Drop this whole mess because quite honestly her admiration for him was dropping by the day. Was everyone from the Alliance naturally annoying?  
  
“Don’t stab the messenger, it's not from me. Just… Here.” Holst handed her an exquisite envelope of thick creamy paper, squished from sitting in his pocket.  
  
Ingrid had been raised properly and knew it would be rude to let Holst stew in the hallway. Her eyes trailed from the letter to his bright smile and she stepped aside.  
  
“Come in, take a seat while I puzzle your _conditional_ gift.”  
  
Absurd, he was absolutely absurd. He shouldn’t be here alone, this late, and why was he so amused?  
  
Holst scanned the small sitting room which was cluttered with novels and old correspondence and an embarrassing vanity that held more jars of sweets than actual grooming products. Ingrid had always been a bit of a packrat, it drove Sylvain up a wall, but she liked her memories. She liked holding on to things.  
  
Ingrid perched on her vanity stool and tore the letter open while Holst dropped himself into a chair, studying her reactions.  
  


> Hey Lady Knight, 
> 
> I heard a little rumor that you’re trying to turn manure into gold.  
>    
>  Or that, more accurately, you’ve already tried that and it failed.  
>    
>  I might know a thing or two about terrible soil. Might have hundreds of years of knowledge that keeps lands fertile and bountiful despite crap conditions. You know. If you’re looking for that kind of thing. 
> 
> Swear to Holst that you owe me a favor, to be chosen at any time, in any context, no questions asked. Swear on your honor as a Knight. And the secrets will be yours. 
> 
> No tricks. The information is as real and as true as you are.  
>    
>  And before you ask I’m in no way having you betray your country or do anything illicit. But that’s all I can say for now. I will call you in when it’s time, and you’ll come, armed to the teeth.  
>    
>  Also stop frowning all the time. You’re doing what you were always meant to do. May we all achieve our dreams with so little bloodshed. That’s not the favor, just some advice.  
>    
>  Yours Truly, 
> 
> Claude von Riegan  
>    
>  PS: I also heard you told your old man to stop treating you like a prized pegasus and that you wouldn’t be sold off to the highest bidder. You really should have come home with me, my mother would love you.

Ingrid read the letter, then read it again for good measure.  
  
That little schemer. He could easily keep people from starving by sharing the knowledge, but no, he asked her to offer herself up no questions asked.  
  
Holst met her eyes, sensing her skepticism. “He’s for real. He told me to tell you that.”  
  
“How are you still in touch with Claude? I thought he was… somewhere.” Claude was always a riddle wrapped in an enigma, but he had gone from running Leicester one day to absolutely unfindable the next. He had his own projects to handle or so he claimed.  
  
Ingrid wanted to call him an opportunistic coward, but wasn’t that what she did? Albeit on a smaller scale.  
  
Holst raised his eyebrow and sighed, “That is between him and me, and Hilda. Mostly Hilda. He’s… Well he’s doing quite a lot. I don’t understand half of it.”  
  
Ingrid glared, demanding explanations and Holst shrugged again. 

“I don’t understand any of it but I peeked at this,” he lifted the bundle, “And it’s for real. And might answer some of your questions besides.” 

Ingrid crossed her arms half furious. Playing games with her. Everyone was always moving her around a board like a game piece. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is so I can make a true decision?”  
  
“Well that wouldn’t be in the spirit of the deal, now would it?” 

  
Damn Holst. He was having fun. Alliance types, with their games and their strategy. Why couldn’t anyone from that damned corner of the world say what they meant? 

“Ingrid I’m not here on behalf of Claude, I told him to come himself. I’m not interested in playing messenger, so I’ll just go and tell him it’s off.” Holst rose from his seat and made for the door with a level of determination and annoyance that reminded her that despite his joviality, Holst was first and foremost a commander. And commanders made decisions. Even risky ones.  
  
“No wait! I don’t trust Claude but… If it would help… Fine. I swear to you, on my honor as a knight, that I owe Claude von Riegan one favor.” Ingrid could barely say the words over the blood rushing to her ears. She was a knight, oaths were not meant to be sputtered out, half unsure.  
  
“I swear it. I accept his conditions.” Ingrid said again, more sure herself. 

  
Holst turned back to her, grinning like a cat with a canary in his mouth. _Just a messenger_ her right boot. 

“I knew you would. Now here, enjoy some uh, light reading. Goodnight Ingrid.” He dropped the book on a table with a thud and exited. 

Ingrid dashed over, unwrapping the cloth and throwing it to the side. A book, an old one seemingly. Well loved and thick. It was bound in Wyvern leather, slightly mottled and inlaid on the cover was the title. 

_A Scientific Primer to Farming the Vast Lands of Almyra_

“Almyra?” Ingrid whispered to herself, how in Serios name did Claude manage to… 

Oh. 

Oh goddess Claude was Almyran wasn’t he? 

What had she just promised? And to whom?  
  
Nausea began to rise from her stomach to her throat and she shook her head. No. She would not do this again. No, being Almyran was not a moral failing. It was new information. That’s it. Claude was Claude. 

Ingrid shook her head, what was done was done. She began flipping through the pages of the book, seeing spell equations that she only half understood and essays on just about any soil issue or how and when to intervene for drought.  
  
There was even a section on early frosts. Just how big was Almyra? 

  
Ingrid was no expert on agriculture, but she’d spoken to just about every expert in Fodlan.  
Mages were working towards some of the things listed in the book, saying the progress was decades away. And Almyra just… had it? Already? 

And seemed to have had it for some time.

What had Claude risked, smuggling these secrets to Ingrid?  
  
What would be the price she had promised to pay? What could she possibly give that would be worth this… impossible book? 

Ingrid felt her heart increase with panic for a brief moment before she fell back on every bit of training she’d endured. Falcon knights never panicked- panic meant losing the precious moments that were the difference between reclaiming a mount or falling to your death.  
  
Grab the handhold, find purchase or die. 

Her first reassurance: This could be the solution to Galatea’s problems. This could make the land not just workable, but fertile. Bountiful.  
  
She could change their fortunes. Not just for a few years, forever.  
  
Not just Galatea, everyone. 

The second reassurance: Claude von Riegan was not a bad person. He was complicated, but he trusted her and he was not a war monger. He did not throw life away easily. Whatever he had planned, it would not be treasonous. It was not courtly or diplomatic either, based on his hint. _Armed to the teeth_ . He wanted her for battle.  
  
She read his letter again, trying to find any hints of what his favor would entail. He clearly knew exactly what he was asking, she wouldn’t put it past him to drop a hint or two so he could laugh at her density when she hadn’t figured it all out. She would not be returning to his home to meet his mother. Not in Almyra then.  
  
He’d ask Petra for Brigid, she was the princess. Shamir for Dagda, a local guide to navigate the unknown country. Sylvain for Sreng, he at least spoke the language. Pegasus hated ship travel, as did Wyverns. Surely they wouldn’t cross the ocean any further to Morfis.  
  
That only left Fodlan. What did he need of her in Fodlan? And why her? 

  
Ingrid took a gasping breath, feeling shaken but calm. A truth sank deep in her skin, the favor was not the next step.  
  
She stroked the leather cover, sure now that the book contained whatever would be next for her. For Galatea   
  
It was far too precious to be posted or delivered by messenger.  
  
Ingrid, for the first time in over a year, would need to return home.  
  
Not as a bride. Not as an heir.  
  
As a miracle.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hmm... What unresolved plotline is in (under) Fodlan for Claude to be working on after AM? I wonder... 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
